Stolen Desert Gold
by Gwyrithiel
Summary: It is F. A. 6, and MiddleEarth stands at the portal of a new era. Roshni, a young woman of the Haradrim, is ripped from her homeland as her northern neighbors continue the afterwar raids. In the White City, she discovers everything is not what it seemed
1. Far From Home

The ghaf trees that dotted the landscape provided fodder for many variations of creatures. Small magenta and yellow flowers blossomed along the sides of the worn path. An array of fireflies and other night bugs glowed and flitted from shrub to tree, un-aware or uncaring of the imminent danger.

The path to the camp was old, very old. The once-thick sand that had covered it was worn down to a fine grain by the generations before him. Leather-clad feet treaded the path noiselessly, with the confidence of one who is certain of the direction. Mazhar could not see the scouts in the early morning darkness, but he knew they were there.

The path ended abruptly, disappearing into a vast interconnected region of barchans. It was near dawn now. He could see several tents lit with the dim light of a candle. The men were on alert.

Not far from there Roshni twisted and turned on her cot, unable to sleep. She could hear the horses snorting every now and then outside. So they sensed it too.

Giving up trying to sleep, Roshni sat up, shivering. It was spring, but the desert was still cool enough at night to warrant cover. She pulled the blanket around her as she struck a flint, yawning. The wick hissed into life, flickering a dull red off the sides of the tent.

The call of a horn rang over the camp, rudely shattering the early morning stillness. The sleek war horses whinnied and pawed the parched ground impatiently. They knew that call.

Roshni jumped, startled. She rose and began to pull her boots on when she turned to see Mazhar pushing back the flap of her mûmak-skin tent. "Come, the scouts have spotted enemy movement," he said importantly. "The men of Ithilien are nary a league from us."

"Really, brother," she said wryly, motioning to her boots. "I couldn't tell."

He laughed at her tone. "Making sure you intend to keep your promise. You did agree to leave when we were attacked, if you recall," he said.

She looked at him queerly then, her eyes filled with a sort of anticipatory dread. "I know," she said reluctantly. "But now that it comes to the point, I am not certain I can. I am tired of running, Mazhar. I'm tired of falling asleep wondering whether I am going to wake up." Her eyes pleaded with him desperately. "Do not send me away. Let me fight against our enemy. We can end this!" Her voice was soft and passionate. She did not know how else to make him understand how she felt – he, a warrior, who was free to do what he would, could not possibly sympathize with her.

Mazhar wavered for a moment, uncertainty in his eyes. He spoke finally. "No, ." He shook his head. "You must understand. I myself do not underestimate your skill and would have you beside me on any day, in any battle…but you must think of father."

Roshni opened her mouth indignantly to protest, as was her wont, but quickly snapped it shut as his words sank in. She had never been able to cause her father pain and she certainly would not start now, especially after –. No…it was not the time. Roshni nodded resignedly to Mazhar.

"Come then," he said abruptly, pulling her to her feet. He wrapped a thinner cloak about her shoulders as they emerged, the arid desert wind hitting them sharply. Mazhar's voice was low. "You and Asli can ride your fillies to safety in Far Harad. We have relatives there."

Roshni turned impulsively and embraced him, not wanting to let go, and all the while knowing it was inevitable. She pulled back, smiling sadly, and he brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb. "It will be fine. Father and I will return," he said with a tremor that belied his calm countenance.

She pressed her lips together, remaining silent, and leapt lightly into the saddle. Mazhar turned his attention to Asli, who had been about at the time of the battle call and was already mounted her horse, waiting. He rested his hand on her knee affectionately. "I am sorry this had to happen," he whispered.

"War is war. You have fought before." She smiled worriedly.

His face softened as he looked into Asli's doe-like eyes – full of innocence and now, a fear she could not hide despite her best efforts. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

He caught his sister's eye as he turned to leave. A brief thought passed between them then, as only close siblings can know. Somewhere deep in his heart, he realized suddenly that he might never see the sunset of this day.

Mazhar shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Be safe, both of you," he said.

"We will be," Roshni replied softly, pulling the cloak over her head. She glanced back once more as she trotted away, Asli on her bay horse matching her stride for stride.

Facing forward again, she breathed quietly, trying to quell the fear that had risen in her. Asli was ever attentive and searched her face, trying to find the right words.

"You believe that you will not see Mazhar or your father again," she said quietly.

Roshni turned to her, her voice thick. "Yes, I do. I fear for the lives of all our men. Mazhar and father are great warriors, but both are too proud. I fear that if our people are captured … the men of Ithilien will not care for such bold arrogance from their subjects." She paused. "But I should be comforting you. As usual, I am being selfish and you are the one caring about everyone else."

"An apology is not necessary. They will not fail, Roshni. Our people are a great tribe," Asli said. "Nonetheless … it is as you say, partly anyway. Many hopes will wither on this dreadful day, be they ours or our enemies'." They both fell silent then, taking what small pleasure they could in their surroundings.

Roshni turned her face to the sky. The sun was glimmering lightly, just beginning to stretch its long fingers over the sand dunes. Roshni stopped suddenly and Asli, startled, yanked her horse to a halt as well.

"What in Eru's name do you think you are doing?"

"I cannot just leave on the whim of a man, even my brother, Asli. Why exactly we are not allowed to fight, but for the petty excuse of our sex, is unclear," she said. "Your husband is back there, battling to the last to protect us and the rest of Haradwaith. Are you content with simply running, in the hopes that everything will 'work out?'" She saw that Asli hesitated and pressed her advantage. "Besides, if our men do fall, what use do you think running will be? We will be caught or killed eventually."

Asli, by nature, tended towards the timid side and hated going against the wishes of those she respected, but at this moment even she could she the logic of Roshni's argument. She nodded slowly.

"Very well, Roshni," she agreed. "Should we not obtain the aid of our neighbors?"

"There is no time to keep riding in that direction, and doubtless they are already informed of the situation. No, we must go ourselves, now."

Meanwhile, Mazhar stood next to the great chief Zoltán, on the top of the bastion overlooking the desert. His scimitar, curved and sharp, was already drawn across his knee, and he continued to stare at it as he spoke, avoiding eye contact.

"You should not be here, father," he said quietly. "More than likely you will not see the end of this battle."

"Oh, I am getting old, am I, son?" He teased. Zoltán caught his sober expression and quickly grew serious. "No, my place is with my people. I would die with honor, not as a coward too filled with fear to draw his sword."

Mazhar was silent for a moment. Then: "Roshni and Asli have left."

"Good, good. I am glad to hear that. They will be safe in Far Harad."

The silence that ensued served only to emphasize the dread in the soldiers of Near Harad. Mazhar looked down on them pensively. The lines of their faces were grim and creased with dirt and sweat. Some had seen too few summers, some too many. Most of the once-great fighting force, including much of their mûmakil, had been killed in the War of the Ring. Mazhar's eyes smoldered at the thought of his people's shameful defeat. Even now, months after official surrender, the Gondorians would not let it rest. . Angrily, he kicked the sand that had gotten into the flet, watching as the breeze picked up the particles and bore them to some other, distant land.

There was a thud from below. Mazhar glanced sharply down, half-expecting (and with irritation) to see some of the more unruly men having a brawl. What he saw instead startled him into action and the rest of the soldiers into action.

A sentinel lay dead on the bottom layer of the clay structure, the shaft of an arrow protruding from his chest.

Zoltán had seen it as well, and drew his sword. It rang out of the sheath, gleaming in the half-light.

"To the death!" he called, giving the signal to shoot. The sound of a legion of arrows hissed in his ears as his men fired with deadly aim, striking many of their targets.

Hikmat, third in command, ordered the second company to shoot with similar fervor. In the same moment, the Ithilien rangers returned fire, realizing their position. Flaming arrows set vulnerable parts of the structure ablaze. Men unseasoned by war cried out and tried to flee as the screams of foes and kin alike rang in their ears, the fear taking them. The battle was only just beginning.

Zoltán knew that his small force of men was losing courage rapidly. They had to be rallied or the battle would be over without a fight. He shouted to Mazhar to lead the lines of oliphaunts forward. They blundered forward through their foe's defenses and kept going, despite being pelted by arrows on all sides. The horn sang once again.

"Release the arrows!" Zoltán shouted to his faction, gambling that the sudden double attack would throw the men of Ithilien off guard, forcing them to the more vulnerable east side of the field. There, they would be in better view of the light and easier to pick off. It worked for the moment, as the startled soldiers suffered substantial losses and fell back quickly to recoup.

Roshni and Asli crept up behind their rivals. Roshni stared in horror at the sky lit up with flame from arrows and the rising sun, and at the moment her daring plan to fight for her people did not seem as advisable as it had several leagues away.

"What are we going to do?" Asli whispered.

"You have your bow, do you not? I am not much use at the moment but if you fire quickly enough we might be able to distract a part of their force long enough for our men to charge again."

Dread was in Asli's eyes but she pulled an arrow out of her quiver and notched it reluctantly to the bow. It found a target – a man, caught by surprise, fell to the ground.

"Fire as much as you can. After that we'll have but daggers."

She nodded and hit two more targets just as quickly, but missed the next few in the uncertain light. By this time, however, some of the men had begun to notice their comrades falling and were returning fire. Roshni ducked behind a rock as several arrows whizzed over her head, hitting the ground behind her.

"My quiver is empty," Asli panted as she sat next to Roshni. "I tried to recover arrows from the ones they shot but it is too dangerous."

"Then we must get into the thick of it. Little use our weapons may be against the blades of the rangers, but at the least we may offer some distraction!"

By this time it was early morning, according to the sun. Mazhar dragged himself to his feet. His head throbbed and he touched the side, his hand coming away red. The oliphaunt must have been shot from underneath me, he thought. Do my men think I am dead? He looked around dazedly, the fact coming through his clouded senses that the battle was still going on.

He cut his way through the rampaging beasts and men to where his father stood, still valiantly fighting. "Zoltán!" He called. "We are weakening. We will not be able to hold them off much longer!"

Zoltán swung and killed several more of the soldiers before turning, distractedly, to Mazhar. He lowered his sword briefly, surveying the now-blistering hot region about him in nary a second. The losses to the men of Ithilien were great, it was true, but the count against the Haradrim was greater still. Of a force about one thousand men, over seven-eighths lay slaughtered on the desert sand, their red and white war paint distinguishing them from the rest. His expression was weighed with a deep sadness as he realized that Mazhar's words were irrefutably true.

"To the keep!" He shouted, motioning behind him. Many of the remaining men fell back as they realized their predicament, following Zoltán in retreat. The horn of the Haradrim sounded once again.

Roshni and Asli were still battling furiously with the men surrounding them; there was no way for them to escape. Despite her self-deprecating words, Roshni was relatively quick with the dagger, and this fact had probably saved her life more than once that day. Still, she was tiring and could see that Asli was as well. The dreaded horn of retreat was now a relief. The women relaxed their guard. It proved an ill choice.

The men of Ithilien had recovered and came up behind the fast-falling Haradrim intending to make an end of the battle. Despite their foes' desperate efforts, they cornered them and slaughtered nearly all. The victory of the north was at hand.

Suddenly a deadly silence filtered through the small band of men encircled by their enemies, the silence only broken by the desperate, random clang of the swords sparring against their foes'. Desperately, Mazhar and Zoltán and the ten or so men left to them turned this way and that. They knew it was over.

"Surrender," Faramir said, his tone cool, "and perhaps we shall spare the lives of these." At that, the soldiers in charge of Roshni and Asli pushed their way through the crowd and shoved them roughly to the sand, the gleaming edges of their swords resting on their necks.

Zoltán stared in dismay at the dirt-crusted forms of the two women before him. His sword clattered from his hand involuntarily. "Why are you here?" he whispered, half to himself. "Why did you return?" The other soldiers, not knowing what else to do, quickly followed his lead and dropped their swords as well.

"He gets the idea," Faramir said, motioning to Zoltán with his sword and then to the women. "What about you?" he addressed Mazhar.

Mazhar stood defiantly, rage in his eyes. He knew that he was hopelessly beaten. He knew the only way to save his wife and sister's lives was to drop his sword. But something inside him refused to let him give in, refused to let him loosen his grip. All the pride of generations of fearless and powerful warriors swelled in him. His hand shook on the hilt of his sword.

"They wait only for my command," Faramir said, nodding to Calanon and Idhrenohtar who stood poised. It was, oddly enough, rather reminiscent of the time when he had given the same ultimatum to Frodo.

"You fool," his father said, his voice low, "it is our only chance." Seeing that his son wavered, he spoke again. "As your king, I command you to drop your weapon."

Mazhar breathed sharply, hatred in his eyes. He might be prideful but even he could not ignore an order from his father and his king.

The sword clattered to the ground.

Faramir lowered his sword and stood for a moment, regarding the dozen Haradrim who stood before him. He issued the command: "We return to Gondor. Bind the prisoners."

Roshni was jerked to her feet, her hands now tied behind her back. She breathed a sigh of relief. The men of Ithilien are not so barbaric after all, she thought. Did they not spare us?

She glanced over to Asli, who seemed to be much worse for the wear than she was. She had fought with as much vigor but was by nature a submissive woman, and it had taken all her courage and then some to cold-bloodedly shoot men, even if they were her enemies. Asli's face was tear-streaked and panicked, the black strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks.. Roshni's eyes traveled down her sister-in-law's attire when she started slightly. Scarlet liquid formed a half circle near Asli's stomach. She tried to hide the fear on her face as she was pushed forward and away from her friend.

She looked back to where the men were being tied. Mazhar was still defiant, barely cooperating with his captor. Roshni hoped desperately that he would smarten up, for in the future she doubted the men of Ithilien would be so kind as they were this turn. Her eyes darted to Zoltán, her beloved father. He stood tiredly, the life seemingly gone from his once animated features. He is broken, she realized, he is old and broken and without a purpose, now that his love - his country - is gone. She surveyed the rest of the soldiers. Some she knew, and some she did not. She made eye contact with Beinion, a youth in Zoltán's favor who frequented her casa. He looked quickly away, shame evident on his features.

"Move out!" Idhrenohtar barked. Slowly the camp trudged forward. There were nearly four hundred men of Ithilien still alive. Roshni pursed her lips in anger. Why had Eru decided to be merciful to the scum of the north, she wondered? What had they done to deserve defeat?

At the head of the line, Faramir spoke with Calanon in low tones. "The women will be useful as servants, in Ithilien or otherwise."

"I believe it would be prudent to question them also. We do not know their relation to the king. If the women know something, it should not be that difficult to get it out of them."

"Always so chauvinistic, my friend? Two women who play at war are no fearful maids.

"You, of course, know this from experience, my lady," Calanon smirked.

Faramir laughed. "Do not make me draw on you, Calanon," he said.

"Indeed, I will not, for I would regret having to kill you in return."

"Always a braggart, you are." Faramir turned serious again. "But of the male prisoners, they could be useful as servants. There has been a shortage in the work force since ... the war," he spoke quietly.

Calanon half-turned to look into Faramir's eyes. "My friend, do not spare the men out of desire to rebuild Gondor. They are murderers and i deserve /i death. Then the people shall see what happens to those who slay Gondor's finest."

Faramir glanced sharply at him. "It was Uruk-hai of Isengard who slew Boromir my brother, not these Southrons."

"An enemy is an enemy, my lord Faramir," he replied. "They serve the same master. You must not permit them to live."

Later that night, camp was made. The moon was as luminous as it had been the night before, spilling its generous beams onto Roshni's cheeks. She stared off into the distance. She had already finished the portion of bread and meat she and Asli had been given – neither cared for ale. After that, they had been separated. She suspected that the man in charge of these soldiers did not want murmurings amongst the prisoners, leastaways not those of how to make their escape. She poked absentmindedly into the fire, adjusting her position on the rug slightly. Her guards were some distance off. It was highly unlikely they would even be needed, though she was not bound. She smiled wryly. Where could she escape to, in a camp as well guarded as this one? The odds were four hundred to one that she would make it ten feet outside the camp's borders. She glanced over to study Asli. She seemed visibly calmer now than she had at their initial capture.

Asli caught the glance Roshni threw her and returned it with a small smile. She desperately wanted to speak with Mazhar, but knew that by the unwritten rules of war it was unlikely to happen. She sighed, turning over on her rug.

Faramir strode through the camp, as was his wont this time of day. He liked to be certain that everything was running smoothly before retiring. He passed by Roshni, who glanced up briefly and then back down to the fire. He paused, speaking in her native tongue.

"Ako magtiwala atipan ng pawid lahat ng bagay ay sa mo kasiyahan?"

"As well as may be expected for a prisoner of war, milord," she replied civilly.

Faramir studied her for a moment, his countenance grave but young. He nodded curtly, sensing her resentment.. "If you need anything, ask Eglerion," he said, nodding in the direction of her guard. He paused before moving off. "My name is Faramir." Roshni merely nodded, not offering a reply.

That in and of itself was the main reason he was still walking around. Who was she, exactly? He had rarely seen a woman, even of the Southron culture, who actively engaged in battle. She had neglected to tell him her name, and he had not asked. He expected to find out the next day anyway when they would likely be arriving in Gondor. As he had told Calanon earlier, he had a feeling that the women would not be easy to break.

And she was bold, too bold. It made him wonder if she was of a higher, more privileged class, though her raiment would suggest otherwise. But had not the King of the Haradrim and his arrogant prince of a son both surrendered that the lives of two women would be spared? Faramir knew little of Haradraic culture, and was puzzled as to whether Zoltán and Mazhar were close to the women or if it was simply courtesy.

It was not good to be unable to sleep the night before a long march. Fortunately, like all self-respecting soldiers, Faramir knew exactly how to fall asleep. He wandered a few more steps to the beer jugs. It was unusually strong stuff the soldiers had brought along and was known to make even the toughest men drowsy. He tipped his head back and drank the entire thing, sighing contentedly. He looked over to where Roshni's small fire was burning and saw her looking oddly at him, a satirical smirk on her face. BR BR

"What is that look for?"

"Nothing."

He crossed his arms, mildly irritated. "In my experience women do not sit in front of a fire watching men drink for nothing."

"I would not have to watch you drink if you had not captured me," she said pointedly.

"Perhaps you should have stuck to knitting then."

Roshni glared at him. She turned away, fuming inwardly as she fingered the edge of her rug. This Faramir was even less intelligent than she thought. He should know that someone of her status would never be relegated to _knitting_.

""Quite frankly you are the leader of these men and we have a long march these next few days, as Eglerion has informed me. Did your father never tell you not to drink and ride?"

"I don't think my father is any of your business," he said, wincing slightly at the mention. "Indeed, I might ask exactly what you are doing still awake."

"Well, I will not tell you."

"Very well then," he said, waltzing away towards the other tents. Roshni rolled her eyes as he left. Not only did he know nothing of propriety, he was arrogant, too. It made her dislike him even more than if he had not captured her.

He tread quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone. Suddenly he heard voices to his right – those of the prisoners. They were murmuring, but audible nonetheless. I will need to have a word with the guards, he thought wryly. Prisoners should not be wandering about.

"Asli, you will be fine," Mazhar spoke. "They bandaged your wound well – it is not bleeding anymore. And they do not know that you are my wife. You will be safe."

Faramir was slightly taken aback. This woman was the prince's wife? She could be an invaluable source of information – and it would explain exactly why she was permitted to join in the battle.

"Mazhar, do not soften the blow of what is inevitable with trivial words." She looked directly into his eyes. "What will they do to us?"

He took a deep breath. "Probably we will become servants, Asli." At her look of disbelief he hurried on. "These men are not uncivilized and there is a good chance we will remain unharmed. Do not take it badly. Worse things have been known to happen," he lied, stroking her hair. "You have Roshni as a companion also."

Faramir raised his eyebrow. Mazhar was obviously a notable warrior. He must know that even if his wife was made a servant he would certainly be executed.

At that moment Faramir's expression grew sorrowful. For a moment, he almost regretted what he had said against these people, the Haradrim. They were fighting for the enemy – but it was a cause they valued, and despite tales of brutal domestic and war practises, this warrior, this leader of men was treating his wife with the same protective tenderness any man of Gondor would.

He turned and walked back to his tent, his step not as carefree as it had been a moment before. He pushed back the flap of his tent, collapsing onto his cot. It must be far past midnight, he thought. Roshni. That was her name. It seemed too delicate for a warrior and yet, it somehow fit her. He shook his head tiredly. I think I had a bit too much to drink, he yawned. It's twisting my thoughts. He rolled over, his eyes closing in sleep, and knew no more.

Please review, and you just might motivate me to keep going. Bruahaha.

Note

Ako magtiwala atipan ng pawid lahat ng bagay ay sa mo kasiyahan? I trust that everything is to your satisfaction?

Barchans: a common type of sand dune that forms from winds that blow in one direction. Crescent shaped, and wider than long. For more information, see http/pubs.usgs.gov/gip/deserts/dunes/

Bastion: a fortress, citadel, stronghold, etc.


	2. She's WHO?

It seemed as a thing alive, wafting deep into the inner rooms of the citadel. Through the vastly arching ceilings and wide corridors it mixed with the moisture in the air, cloaking any solid object in its proliferous fumes. The air had a tangible quality about it this night. It was that odd time of year when the bleak winter departed, meeting with warm to form an uncomfortably dense atmosphere. Melannen wiped a hand across her brow tiredly as she continued to write. The quill scratched across the parchment.

"Naerwen, would you send this down to technical supplies?" she asked, not pausing to look up as she handed her co-worker a small report. "We're running low on ink and I have to finish this."

Naerwen nodded, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear studiously. She was new to the King's staff. "And, Melannen, do you know where Ayala is?" she asked. "There is someone here to see her."

"Name?"

"Hérion, of Dol Amroth." Naerwen studied her carefully for her reaction. It was not exactly her metier, but she perceived that this Hérion was important. It was not everyday Ayala had a caller, being spoken for. And, above all, Naerwen was a gossip.

Melannen nearly dropped her quill. She recovered quickly. "Er, tell him I will meet him in two minutes. Tell Fainon to take over things while I am gone."

As Naerwen bowed deferentially and exited, Melannen could barely concentrate on finishing the report. She was a good friend of Ayala's, but this was too much to handle. The one time Ayala had taken her leave, and Hérion had to show up!

She rose and rounded the corner of the partition, her soft shoes padding quietly as she visually swept the area. Everyone was still hard at work. She sighed to herself. All of them had barely taken a break during the War, and now there was still so much to do.

She looked up to see a tall, dark haired man standing in the archway. She grinned as she saw him bending over to break a leaf off the plant and sniff it cautiously.

"Hérion, our plants are not like the ones in Dol Amroth," she teased.

He looked up, comically panic-stricken, and stuffed the leaf into the bottom of the pot. "I don't know what you are talking about, Melannen," he replied innocently.

"Come now, let's walk," she said, taking his arm. "Ayala has taken the rare break."

"So it seems."

They turned down the hallway, Hérion marveling at its sweeping structure and gothic-like arches. "I have not been to Minas Tirith in so long."

They reached the balcony at the end of the corridor. Both breathed deeply. Out here in the open the air was not quite so thick.

"What brings you here, Hérion?"

"I am acting interim advisor between Dol Amroth and Gondor, mainly. Imrahil wanted me to oversee the interagency affairs after the War. I have come with new information from the front. Here, read this letter relayed to us from the rider."

_...we have just conquered the main faction of the Haradrim, the Krathas. We met with some resistance – the Duumvirs were there, as we expected. Six hundred men were slain along with two hundred horses. Oddly, there were two women who joined in the battle. It seems that one, Roshni, was there against their elder duumvir's wishes, but the other is the wife of the other. It is not clear who the other woman is, save that the young duumvir and his wife are familiar with her, but both are prisoners of war along with Duumvir Zoltán and Duumvir Mazhar. All other warriors were slain, save ten, a mix of archers and foot soldiers. We will be arriving in the city on April 3, 4002. – Prince Faramir_

Melannen looked up and folded the paper, handing it back to Hérion. "Ayala will be pleased with this news. It is a pity you could not have told her yourself." She smiled at him. "Thank you for coming down, Hérion, but now I must return. I will have to put some of our people on damage evaluations with these new casualties," she said, her eyes looking more tired than ever.

"Of course," he replied. "I will see you at the briefing tomorrow, along with Ayala."

"Naturally. Good night, Hérion."

The dawn was just breaking as Roshni trudged up what felt like the millionth hill that night. Nearly everyone in the company was quiet with exhaustion, but for the occasional horse snorting dew out of its nostrils. It would have been a fine morning if the circumstances were different. At last the company reached the apex of the hill. The sight that greeted them was unspeakably lovely.

Minas Tirith. The majestic city of Gondor, the pride of the ancient faithful of Númenor. Her eyes swept the horizon in awe. The formidable mithril gate glinted even in the half-light, clearly showing the way into the city. Even if it was not completely visible from a distance, the tall watchtowers mounted far above the gleaming limestone walls were, giving the citizens inside a much-needed sense of security. All invidious reminders of what the Ayids no longer possessed.

Roshni glanced to her left, wondering briefly if Mazhar and her father had seen it as well. There Mazhar stood, an unreadable expression on his face. She sighed inwardly. He was too arrogant.

Mazhar met the look Roshni threw him and grimaced. His hands were still bound behind his back, probably because he was a flight risk. He knew (or thought) Roshni was more accepting of this sort of thing, but he – he could not comprehend that the main faction of Haradwaith was overthrown, that they would likely never see their homeland again.

Roshni broke away from him and turned to Eglerion. "Speak plainly, my guard, and do not smear your reply with honey," she said quietly. "We are all going to die...are we not?"

Eglerion shifted uncomfortably. "No," he replied slowly. "At least, you will not."

Roshni narrowed her eyes slightly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I am not permitted to speak on this matter with you."

She made a slight sound of disbelief. "You already have."

Eglerion remained silent, staring stolidly ahead. When he was sure her attention had left him once more, he shut his eyes in regret. He did not truly believe that these women were a part of this; and he desired that they not be put through the agony of watching their family die. Nonetheless, his duty was to his country, not to the relations of his long enemies.

Roshni bit her lip, worry creasing her brow. Eglerion's silence frightened her. A deep despair filled her heart then, as she realized this might truly be the last day her father and brother had to live. No, she thought. I do not believe it. I will not!

At that moment, Faramir, riding at the head of the company, halted. "Minas Tirith is less than a league off," he said, his face solemn. "When we arrive, the female prisoners are to be brought by the back way into the city. The remaining soldiers will follow Calanon and I."

The men obeyed silently, their bearing proud despite the journey. Asli looked regretfully in the direction of the rest of the men as they trudged towards the White City, she and Roshni being separated from them now. They would not to share in the fate of their men, be it for good or ill.

"Our enemies return with the bounty of a nation, and our own men to shame," Asli said softly.

Roshni's heart stirred, sparked by Asli's careless words and by Eglerion's silence. It was unfair, perhaps, but she did not care. "How little you know of war, dear Asli!" Roshni said. "If that is the least they do, we will be fortunate beyond reason."

Eglerion pressed his mouth shut. He suspected their separation from the rest had something to do with the fact that the women would be interrogated, and that if they were paraded in the streets, the people would expect them to be sentenced. He would not know, for certain anyways, being but an ordinary foot soldier and not high in the counsel of the Prince. He shook his head. He would not be manipulated.

Roshni stumbled as they descended the hill, slipping on the dewy grass. She was exhausted. She had slept hardly a wink and they had been on the march with little food or rest for nearly two hundred fifty leagues. It was a relief when finally they reached the massive stone wall, the other part of the company now a good distance off.

A sentinel, robed in traditional Gondorian attire, looked down suspiciously at the newcomers. "What business have you here?" he questioned.

"We are part of the second company of Ithilien," Rimedur, Asli's main guard, answered. "We have returned, with female prisoners."

"Ah. I see," the sentinel said, realizing (or rather, guessing) the reason for their inconspicuous entrance. "Very well, then." He motioned for the other guards to help him drag open the stone door, allowing the small company in.

Roshni gazed around. The path in front of her was narrow and twisting, although she suspected it could have something to do with the fact that it was uninhabited save for a few scrawny rats. Indeed, it was rather dark, not at all like Minas Tirith had looked like on the outset. Asli wrinkled her nose at the stench, and looked over at Roshni with an irritated expression. Roshni shrugged indifferently to her, knowing there was nothing she could really say, or wanted to say, for that matter. Everything that had happened so far had put her in an irrational mood. It wasn't really fair, but then, neither was being dragged away from her homeland.

Their company had barely walked one hundred yards before taking a right into another path. This random turning happened countless times, bringing the soldiers and prisoners deeper into the labyrinth. Roshni was beginning to wonder if they were lost. Suddenly her question was answered as they arrived in the front of a small, brummagem structure. Half a dozen guards were visible just at the gate, yet there was no obvious activity inside. She smiled wryly. i This must be the jail... /i

The guard looked up. "Ah, Eglerion," she said, shaking his hand. "We were expecting you. You as well, Rimedur," she smiled.

"I did not know that you were on the jail rotation today, Bereth."

She looked at him coyly. "I was not, until a few minutes ago. I am glad you made it back safely."

"I see," he replied, trying to contain a smirk. Bereth was truly endearing, but she could not possibly have been less subtle about flirting if she had tried. "Well, do tell Mannich to check us in. I have duty on the other side of the city."

Asli looked over and giggled slightly. She herself had been that way with Mazhar at one time. Roshni rolled her eyes inwardly and nudged Asli to stop. The way this conversation was going, they would be standing on the streets til the sun was at its highest. Already it was beating down with an unusual heat. Roshni adjusted her position impatiently. At that moment, the man she presumed to be Mannich came bustling over.

"Eglerion, Rimedur, good to see you," he said, and then turned to face the prisoners, along with the small guard behind them. He raised his eyebrow slightly. There were ten count of guard, but female prisoners usually warranted no more than one each. Mannich was wizened and experienced, having lived numerous years (and overseeing the prison many of them) and so he realized that these women must have some sort of impact on Gondor and were to be guarded more carefully. He made mental note.

"Names of the prisoners?" he asked.

Eglerion shifted slightly, realizing that he didn't know their names. "Well..."

"I am Roshni," she said, her gaze indifferent.

"And I, Asli."

"Mm hm," Mannich murmured, filling out the record papers. He nodded to Eglerion. "Bring them to the third cell block."

Eglerion half bowed in respect and walked with his company through the steel gates.

Mannich watched them for a moment. Usually females were simply released. Very few of those captured in war had been imprisoned. They were both attractive and he wondered what they were doing with battle gear. He shook his head, returning to the papers. It was none of his business.

Faramir rode through the cobblestone streets of Gondor at the head of his company, his stallion arching his neck and moving with mincing steps. The excitement in the air was tangible. All around people stopped what they were doing to stare at the company and the prisoners. The herald rode ahead of them all.

"Hail the Prince of Ithilien! Hail the company of Gondor! They have returned this day – in victory!" he shouted, his voice echoing. The people cheered and clapped joyously.

Mazhar bowed his head, his jaw clenching. Zoltán noticed and spoke in their native tongue.

"Do not take it so hard, my son. It is but royal pomp. It will be over soon."

"I would stand it, father, but that I know the fate that awaits us, marry though we have not been informed of it," he replied sharply. "I do not know how you feel, but I myself am not so ready to die."

Zoltán was about to reply when a soldier barked at them. "Keep to the straight, prisoners. Do not speak."

Zoltán faced forward again resignedly and studied his surroundings. He knew that under war circumstances, prisoners could be sentenced without trial. He had performed that task himself many a time. It truly is a beautiful city, he mused. Everywhere he looked there were markets and vendors selling many different items. The smell of exotic spices wafted through the air. Children ran about in the streets, though the older, war-hungry, and just plain curious ones had joined in the lusty cheering. Many levels above him he could faintly see the outline of the great citadel where the King abode.

After what seemed like ages, they had finally ascended the to the top of the seventh layer of Minas Tirith. The herald announced the king and queen, and they emerged from the pillars.

Mazhar and Zoltán were pushed to the front of the line. "My King Tar-Elessar, My Queen Undómiel," he addressed them. "I present to you prisoners from the region of Near Harad. We also took hostage their Prince, and their King"

At that Zoltán and Mazhar were walked up to the throne. The crowd grew silent, tension rippling through them.

Aragorn studied them quietly for a moment, his countenance grave. "You were in league with the enemy," he said. When he received no answer, he went on. "You fought on the side of the evil one, and did so without conscience. You killed our finest. You have nowhere to turn now." He gazed directly into their eyes. "Will you not aid us in our fight against the insurgents?"

Zoltán and Mazhar stood silently, not dignifying him with an answer. Arwen shook her head subtly, touching Aragorn's arm. He spoke again.

"Very well. Take them to the jail."

Mazhar turned to look Aragorn in the eye, even as he was led away. It was a glance Aragorn would never forget. His dark eyes, nearly black, seemed to pierce his soul.

A murmur swept through the crowd. They had hoped for sentencing on the spot. Instead, their King was giving these murderers a second chance! Many of the more hate-filled ones began to jeer and throw random food at the prisoners. Shouts went up as minor scuffles began and a riot would have ensued but for the quick work of the Guard. Still, the people were extremely noisy.

Aragorn shook his head, motioning for Faramir to come over.

"Arwen, I must speak privately with Faramir," he sighed. "Would you oversee preparations for the banquet tonight."

"Certainly," she replied, turning gracefully away. "I will meet up with you later."

Faramir walked up the stairs and bowed to Aragorn. "My King," he said.

Aragorn smiled. "There is no need for ceremony between us, Faramir, as I have told you many times," he chided. "Besides, we have important matters to speak of."

"I assume you received my report of the battle."

"You are correct. You say there were women? I had been under the impression that women would not be at the bastion."

"I thought that as well, but it seems these ones at least disobeyed that order. There were only two of them, and together they killed nearly twenty of our men with the bow and dagger."

Aragorn raised his eyebrow, mildly impressed despite the fact that they

had killed their men. "Why did you not simply kill the other one?"

"I believe she, too, might know something of our enemies' movements."

Aragorn nodded, agreeing with Faramir. "I will have them questioned tomorrow.

The more of these rogue sects we can eliminate, the better."

Faramir bowed, prepared to make his exit. "I will be staying in the city for a while longer."

"Your fiancée will be glad to hear that," Aragorn grinned. "She has been pining for you."

"Oh?" Faramir said. "I was under the impression that she did not care one whit for me personally." He winked, both realizing she was within earshot.

"That is most certainly not true," a feminine voice protested. They both spun around quickly to see Ayala standing there, grinning. "You know I love you," she teased.

Faramir grinned back, thinking how much more lovely she seemed after seeing nothing but the desert and sweaty men for weeks on end.

"I will leave you both to your ministrations," Aragorn interjected. "I must see to tonight's affairs."

"Thank you, my lord," Ayala spoke, her accent still liltingly reflective of Dol Amroth. She smiled into Faramir's eyes, content just to soak in his presence.

Faramir wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. He brushed a silvery blond curl out of her face, tilting his head to kiss her with the all the desire of a traveling soldier. Her lips were soft and pliant as she pressed her mouth to his, returning his gesture with as much fervor.

Ayala pulled back at last to study him, her green eyes luminous even in daylight. She caressed his face, noting the coarseness of his beard. "I was so worried about you," she whispered.

"I am back now, my love," he said, kissing her once more. She sighed almost inaudibly as she did the same, never wanting to let of him again.


	3. The Scroll

The casement was narrow, but even so the midday sun managed to penetrate it, fustian on her features. Roshni turned her face away once more, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair. It was tight in her cell. No doubt the King had intended to at least make the situation livable for the time being, but she could not come to terms with being constricted, even for a short time. Roshni loved the freedom of her homeland; the vast, empty regions of the desert filling her heart with an insatiable longing.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the click and turn of a lock. She looked up, fear (though she was loathe to show it) in her eyes as the shadows of two burly soldiers flooded the door.

"Come with us," the larger one commanded. Roshni made no move to comply. They stepped inside and pulled her to her feet, half-dragging her from the cell.

Roshni winced as their grip tightened on both her arms. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Asli walking obediently. She inadvertently made eye contact with Roshni, and then glanced away, seemingly agitated. Roshni tightened her lips involuntarily. So, Asli had given them up.

Roshni stepped carefully over the muck in the walkway as much as her guards would physically give her leave. It wasn't that difficult to do because they were nearly a foot taller than she and practically picked her up.

She had lived here just slightly less than a week, yet her feet seemed to know the paths, following them without hesitation. Her brow furrowed suddenly as she met something she did not recognize. She raised her eyes apprehensively to see Faramir standing there, his arms crossed.

"Here to play again, my liege," she said mockingly. "But it seems this game is different than the others."

Faramir's expression remained stolidly unchanged as he surveyed her. "Put them in separate rooms," he ordered their guards.

As Roshni was turned away, he met Asli's gaze, questioning her silently. She stood undecidedly for a moment. Conflict played across her face like a theater. How would Roshni take the news? For all she knew, it could backfire. But at last, resignedly, she nodded.

Faramir stepped to his left, catching the door before the guard shut it. "Make certain I am not interrupted."

At the guard's nod, Faramir shut the door behind him. When he faced around again, Roshni met his gaze defiantly.

"So, do you still think I can do nothing but knit?"

"The cut on your cheek is healing well."

She reached up subconsciously to her face, touching the result of her brazen actions in this room several days ago. "You are a most peculiar interrogator."

"Fortunately for all of us I have not come here today to interrogate you."

She laughed shortly. "Then what is your purpose?"

"You said, once, that the Haradrim fought nobly and for a just cause. I ignored it then – because I quite misjudged your ability to handle pain. But Asli told me much the same. And she is not like you," he said, leaning over the table. "No, she is not so guarded, so hardened as you. What did the War do to you, Roshni?" He asked softly. "What do you wish you could take back?"

Roshni averted her eyes, her breathing quickening. Memories flashed through her mind. A figure, falling…

He half-smiled, triumphant. "I have a way for you to amend whatever it is you wish. You see, Asli told me something, something that will have a great deal of impact on you. You do not fight on the side of the just. That much I knew all along. But now…I know that you did not know it either."

Roshni's narrowed her eyes, thinking this to be a trick. Why else the cloak-and-dagger method of questioning her? "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Sauron lied to you. He lied to your people long ago, seeing that you were valuable to his cause. He told Ar-Pharazon that Ilúvatar was a lie. Is that not true?"

"Ilúvatar is a lie," she said vehemently. She knew it! He was trying to trick her. "It is he, and not Sauron, who is false. Sauron saved our people from our confinement, unjust vassals that we were. He opened our eyes." She made a last-ditch effort to prove him wrong. "Besides, you have no proof." Her expression was cocky, daring him to say otherwise.

At this Faramir looked troubled, but not for himself. Quietly now he spoke. "Asli told me that you would take it this way, that you would not believe it." He pulled a scroll from the satchel he had brought along, laying it in front of Roshni. "Here are correspondences from one of our men who had infiltrated the Tower. He was caught and killed – but before, intercepted many messages."

Roshni bent her head suspiciously, not sure what to expect. She began to read. She unfolded the scroll easily, line after line trudging before her eyes. Her breath caught anew. Faramir was silent as he waited for her response.

Many minutes had passed when at last Roshni looked up, a tear trickling down her cheek. She rolled the scroll up noiselessly and handed it to Faramir, her countenance gone of its former arrogance.

"I cannot believe it is true. I remember the man in that scroll well," she whispered. "He was slain in remuneration for his disloyalty – but he was not. It is my people who were lied to, my people who were in the wrong." She turned and looked Faramir in the eye with an intensity he had not seen there before.

"I wished to confirm the truth; that you did not know the gravity of your actions. Now I hope you will aid Gondor," he said quietly.

"I just found out that I have been slighted and betrayed my entire life, Faramir," she said, her voice growing stronger. "I will certainly help you to defeat the one who carries on in Sauron's wake – if it is the last thing I do."

Aragorn put a finger to his lips conspiratorially as he led Arwen by the hand to a little-known side door of the city. Arwen giggled. He was acting like a little child, and she loved it.

He stopped abruptly, peering up at the door. "Now what was that darn spell?" He complained in mock annoyance. "I might have to knock your head against the door, Arwen, if I can't remember." He grinned and ducked as she swatted him.

"Oh stop, don't make fun of Gandalf," she admonished, but her tone was playful.

Aragorn ran his fingers over the stones, finding the one he sought. Pressing it, the nearly invisible door swung open quietly.

"Come on!" He whispered.

Together they ran over the grassy ground, heading for their usual spot, a grove of cherry trees. In the spring it was most beautiful, the pink blossoms flowering and falling to the ground. They twisted and flitted in the breeze as though alive, creating a soft blanket on the ground.

Arwen's eyes darted around in mock seriousness as she 'scouted' the area for people who might see them leave. "I think we're safe, Aragorn!"

They plopped down, seeing the White City from just half a league off. It was a glorious day, a perfect day to sneak away from their duties for a much-needed reprieve.

"How was the Council meeting, love?"

Aragorn groaned. "Please, let's not talk about that. I would hate for business to ruin one of the few times we get away."

Arwen raised an eyebrow knowingly. "Let me guess. Another spat."

Aragorn nodded mutely, wondering what he was going to do about those women. He sighed as he thought of what a disaster it had been that morning. He had thought if he assigned Faramir to the morning interrogation, that perhaps the two of them would not fight. But he had been wrong.

It had started out innocuously enough. It had been a closed-Council meeting, meaning that there were only the five of them there – Saeldur, Calanon, Ayala, Eowyn, and himself. The main topic of discussion had been what to do with the prisoners. Namely, execution.

"I believe it would be wise to execute the duumvirs as soon as possible," Eowyn commented. "We may get the same information from the women as the men. In addition, public sentiment is clamoring for it. It could get out of hand quite soon if nothing is done."

"How can you be so sure that the women had access to that sort of sensitive intelligence?" Ayala had asked, a arrogant smile on her face. "True, they were high in the hierarchy, and certainly did not spend their entire lives oblivious to politics, but in the interest of safeguarding their secrets in instances such as these, the duumvirs probably did not tell them everything."

"Faramir has been interrogating them for a week now," Eowyn replied evenly, not intending to spark Ayala's ire. "At this point, he seems to think the women know as much as the men – and men are harder to break, it seems, in this case." She hated to sound as though she thought men were superior, but it was apparently true when it came to extracting information.

"Really, Eowyn, and you are qualified to make judgments about Faramir's thoughts?" Ayala questioned, a touch of satire in her voice.

"I believe in this case I am," she replied archly.

"Look, you have hard feelings towards Faramir. That is completely all right. But just because you two had a bad break-up does not excuse your blatant disregard for national security. One might even go so far as to say that you are advocating execution just to get back – "

Eowyn leaped up from her seat, her eyes flashing. "Do not bring relationships into this discussion, Ayala," she said, emphasis on each word. "It is far riskier to keep them alive, with the potential to harm us, than anything else."

"Prison security is tight, and it could greatly help our country to use them against the enemy. A week is not much time to break them. I know this technique was used with Grima and it worked out fairly well – "

"The only reason it worked, even for a short time, is because Aragorn baited him with i me /i , and in the end he killed Saruman, the very person we were trying to get to. So, do me a favor, and don't revise history I i lived /i through!"

"All right, enough!" Calanon broke in sharply, frustration showing in his tone. "This is not the time. Aragorn, what do you think?"

Aragorn was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He turned subtly to look Saeldur in the eye, who nodded with his eyes. "I believe they should be executed. I do not see how the men could aid us, anyhow. The women will tell us what we wish to know, and we must prevent public discord. This is the most viable option."

Eowyn smiled, almost triumphantly. Ayala looked a bit dejected, but quickly schooled her features. If Eowyn wanted to be immature, then let her, but she would not be dragged into her childish games!

"Schedule it for sunrise," Aragorn's voice broke into her thoughts. "And now, Council is adjourned, for today, anyways."

Arwen touched his arm, interrupting his reverie. "You do not have to talk about it, Aragorn," she said softly. "Let's just enjoy the day."

After he was certain the women had been returned to their holding cells, Faramir strode quickly outside the jail, heading for the citadel. He had to inform Aragorn of this news and stay the execution.

It was nary ten minutes later when at last he reached the door. Invisible guards swung it open to admit him. He walked purposefully to where he knew Aragorn would be sitting, his leather boots making no cacophonous noise.

He stopped short, puzzled. There was no one at the throne.

Aragorn had said he would be in the city today, Faramir mused. He knows it is

essential that his whereabouts be known. So he must be here.

But it was the middle of the day. Faramir brightened with this revelation. That must be it! The King and Queen are probably eating lunch. Relieved, he headed toward the dining hall. The oak doors swung open at his light touch.

It was empty.

Faramir's brow furrowed. It was too early to be at a Council meeting. Usually the Council, if they met at all, met after dinner.

He thought hard, starting to get nervous. He paused. It was sunny out. Sometimes when he had no other pressing duties, Aragorn would take a short ride.

Faramir hurried out the door, hardly acknowledging the people he passed in the street. The stone walls and buildings seemed to blur as his mind concentrated on what was before him.

The compact stable loomed into view. A good deal of activity was taking place around it as stable hands led horses to and fro, watering them or cooling them off from earlier riders' workouts. Whinnies echoed from inside, horses that wanted their stable mates back. Ahead, Faramir caught sight of a tall, dark haired figure standing near the doorway, taking the lead of a gray mare from one of the stable boys. He must have heard Faramir's approach, for he turned and smiled widely.

"Ho, Faramir, what brings you here at this time of day? Perhaps you would like to join me for a ride." He clapped him on the shoulder. "I had intended to try this mare today."

Faramir tried to choke back ire at conversing not with the King, but with the Chief of the Guard. "I apologize, my friend, but I cannot. I am on business. Have you seen the King?"

Saeldur shook his head slowly. "I have not seen him since the Council this morning." Misreading the look in Faramir's eyes, he continued. "I am sure he's fine, Faramir."

Faramir's mind reeled. This morning? What was Aragorn doing in a Council meeting this morning? "Yes, I am certain he is fine, but it is of the utmost importance that I locate him."

"I cannot help you there, Faramir. Look, go to the Bureau. He may have left his itinerary there." Without waiting for a reply, he whistled to one of the stable boys. "Do bring Prince Faramir a horse, boy," he called.

Faramir mounted up, gathering the reins. He visually contained his worry and thanked Saeldur as he pulled the horse to leave. "Good luck with the mare, Saeldur."

"Good luck with finding the King, Faramir," he called as he watched them disappear. Saeldur turned and shrugged as tightened the girth, patting her affectionately. Faramir got a bit too worked up sometimes.

Faramir heeled the horse into a canter, barely avoiding the people in the streets. The horse's hooves clacked on the ground as he snorted, wanting to extend his pace. Faramir murmured softly to slow him, not wanting the horse to fatigue too quickly.

The sun had moved slightly across the sky when at last Faramir pulled up in front of the Bureau, tossing the reins of his horse to the waiting servant. Usually he would stop and converse with the people in the halls, but today he barely gave them a passing glance. Some of the more sensitive ones looked a bit hurt, and others merely shrugged and continued on their way. All for the best, Faramir thought.

Faramir was agitated. It should not have been so difficult to locate the King. Today was an extremely important day. He should know better than to wander off, even if he did have the authority to do so. Faramir sighed in frustration. Aragorn was experienced enough to know that when captives were being interrogated, he should be available to receive updated information.

Ayala looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Faramir striding towards the desks. "Faramir, what might I do for you?" Her smile turned to a frown when she saw his expression.

"Have you any notion as to where the King is?"

"Not really," she replied, but he saw a twinge of guilt on her face.

"Ayala, do not lie to me. I know you better than that." He crossed his arms.

"I do not know where he is without good reason."

Faramir took her arm and pulled her aside, out of earshot of the other employees. True, they were busy enough that likely they would not notice, but he could not take the risk.

"You cannot tell anyone this right now." He lowered his voice. "I went to speak with Roshni today, after you gave me the documents."

"It was true," Ayala breathed. "To think one of our greatest foes could have been our greatest ally!" At that moment realization hit her, and she moaned softly. "Eru, the execution is already scheduled."

Faramir's eyes widened. "For sunset?"

She bit her lip, her voice almost a whisper now. "Yes. They went to the grove of cherry trees outside of the city. Wait at the gate, and you will likely see them coming in."

"Thank you!" Faramir bent over to kiss her lightly before turning and moving off. "Ayala, Aragorn must get this message."

She nodded. Certainly she did not want to be responsible for the premature deaths of two of the most important political prisoners. "I will put some of my people on locating him right away should your venture fall through."

Faramir nodded and walked away briskly. This was his last chance to prevent disaster.

Arwen fingered the grass absentmindedly, staring off into the distance. The sun was beginning to set. Just then she became conscious of how long she and Aragorn had been gone. She had hardly noticed amongst their laughter, but now a peaceful silence had ensued.

She twisted to her left, taking in his profile. His hair, not yet streaked with silver, fell in short raven waves to his shoulders. His face, once unlined and young, was grave with the matters of a kingdom. She brushed her lips against his, murmuring softly.

"We should get back to the city, Aragorn. Our presence is required at executions, however gruesome they may be."

Aragorn sighed. He did not really want to have the men killed, but really, he had no choice. Eowyn was right. It caused a pang in him. Despite all his years as a warrior, killing all opponents – he had never liked it. Especially this. It isn't really fair, he mused. At least in battle they have a chance. Execution, well, they're dead men walking. Then he reminded himself that the prisoners had fought in a battle – and lost. Yes, what had to be done had to be done.

"You are right, as usual, my love," he said, the timbre of his voice husky with regret. "I only wish there was another way."

She smiled sadly. "'So do all who live to see such times', as Gandalf saith." It hurt her to see him so weighed down with worry. She brushed hair away from his face tenderly. "Let us count ourselves blessèd simply to have spent such a lovely afternoon in each other's company, as rarely occurs."

He nodded. "I will feel much better when this day is over. But come, let us return."

It was a twenty-minute walk, at great speed. Together they rose to return to Minas Tirith.

Mazhar wrenched his arm away from his captors, spinning to face them. He pulled his hand back to land a blow, but the guard's quick reflexes stopped it mid-air, the grip nearly crushing it. That guard smiled wryly.

"I may be a woman, but it would do you good not to underestimate me. Especially with Eglerion here." Bereth motioned to Zoltán's main escort.

"Nothing will do me good now," he muttered. Still, he realized the futility of his situation. He glanced at his surroundings, soaking up what of the city he could. It deeply saddened him that he could not have come here under better circumstances, that Gondor and Haradwaith could not have been allies. Nay, all this was but the result of a misunderstanding caused by none other than Sauron.

His eyes burned with anger as they raked the cobblestone streets. He blocked out the roar of the cheering crowd, no doubt they were mocking them. Why were he and his father-in-law being executed, if these people knew the truth? Did the mighty King of Gondor bow to popular demand?

Abruptly the noise of scuffling feet stopped. He half-turned to see Zoltán standing there. For a moment it was as though the mask of strength had fallen of Zoltán's face. There was something else there – was it? Mazhar's jaw clenched as he realized what it was. It was despair!

His throat tight, Mazhar followed his gaze and his heart nearly stopped.

The scaffolding was but thirty feet in front of them. The crowd, blood-lusty a moment before, grew quiet as Aragorn raised his hand. His countenance was grave as he spoke the words.

"Today, my people, we gather to witness an execution." He looked out over the crowd. "Long was Gondor oppressed by our foes, the Haradrim, even after the War of the Ring ended. Today, the duumvirs of that nation will pay the price for their insolence."

The crowd burst into applause, hoots and whistles filling the air as Mazhar and Zoltán were pushed up the stairs to the scaffolding.

Across and above the crowd, Roshni and Asli gaped at the sentence, grief hid behind veiled faces. Both were concealed from the horde of people behind the pillars, a small guard surrounding them even if they had desired to flee.

Asli could only stare in horror. She and Roshni had told Faramir the truth – the scoundrel! Had he not the fortitude to report to his superiors?

Asli had never defied anyone before. She was obedient and loving, her late father's only joy. She had never raised her voice to Mazhar, even in anger. She would not raise a hand to kill a firefly. So the rage and despair she felt now, rising in her, was ever the more poignant.

Roshni laid a hand on Asli's shoulder, startled to feel her shaking.

"Asli, Asli," she murmured, knowing that nothing she said could comfort her in her grief. She, too, felt like giving in, but she had always been the strong one, the one people leaned on. She could not break down now.

She could not understand it either.

Faramir raced down the streets, away from the gate, the sound of hooves clacking the only noise. He had first begun to realize something was really wrong when he noticed the houses were empty. There was no one in the streets. His heart sank when he heard a dull roar in the distance. That could mean only one thing. Still he wondered how Aragorn and Arwen had reentered the city without him knowing.

He dug his spurs into the tiring horse's sides, urging him on. The wind bit at his face, causing his eyes to tear. Impatiently he brushed it away, laying lower over the horse's back. He had to stop the execution, if it had not occurred already.

Hardly two minutes had past when he pulled up at the outset of the crowd. His spirits rose briefly as he saw that Mazhar and Zoltán were alive still. He tried to make use of his position in society by clearing a path through the crowd. Unfortunately, this proved futile.

"Excuse me, sir, excuse me, ma'am," he said, frustration in his tone. "I am Prince Faramir, let me through."

But the people barely seemed to notice him, so absorbed were they in the sight before them. He understood with something close to despair that he could never make it through the crowd this way in the next minute.

Thinking quickly, he noticed that the wrap-around balcony was not filled with people. Yes, he could go through there to reach Aragorn. Taking his belt, he scaled one of the pillars and began to run. Like hell.

The few servants still maintaining their duties shouted after him as he clambered through, pushing them out of the way on some occasions. He had no regard for anything but reaching the King, his concern overriding everything else. His surroundings faded as he focused on Aragorn, who was still making the characteristic pre-execution speech.

He was thirty feet away. He realized with horror the crowd had stopped even murmuring. That could mean only one thing.

He burst through the tiny guard surrounding Aragorn, skidding to a halt.

"No!"

Above the kneeling duumvirs, the executioner lifted his gleaming blade into the air.

u Note /u

When reviewing, I mainly want to know if you were yelling at Faramir to hurry up, and if Roshni and Asli were sad enough. Also, how was the argument between Ayala and Eowyn?


	4. Derision

Oki, I am a crazy psycho, and since I've recently been catching up on old episodes of 24 as well as watching the return of Alias (yay!), I decided to do a little summary thing like the TV shows do. Haha.

Also, the "flashbacks" are in italics.

Previously in Stolen Desert Gold…

(Faramir voiceover) "Surrender, and perhaps we shall spare the lives of these."

(Cut to Faramir, expression businesslike and cold, as he motions to Roshni and Asli with soldiers poised to strike)

(Dramatic narrator voice) One woman, ripped from her homeland…

(Pan to Roshni, Minas Tirith in the background along with the sounds of the militant force surrounding them, as she questions Eglerion. Her expression is pained) "We are all going to die, are we not?"

(Dramatic narrator voice) Will soon discover…

(Cut to Faramir and Ayala, kissing. Faramir pulls back and murmurs quietly) "I am back now, my love."

(Dramatic narrator voice) That things are not always what they seem… (Dramatic music)

(Cut to interrogation scene between Faramir and Roshni. Roshni stares in disbelief at the scroll in her hand, Faramir looks sympathetic) "I hope you will aid us." "I just found out I have been lied to my entire life." (Roshni looks determined) "I will help you if it is the last thing I do."

(Dramatic narrator voice) And even good intentions…

(Show a frenzied Faramir running towards Aragorn. Dramatic music increases.)

(Dramatic narrator voice) Can end in disaster…

(Show Aragorn's surprise as Faramir bursts through, panicked, with a cry of "No!" Executioners' blade lifts into the air. Back to present.)

A bird chirped. It was one of those birds that flies down and pecks at something, pretending not to notice you, and all of a sudden just wings it back to the tree, where it does its annoying little chirp of safety.

It was quite a cute bird, though. Nice and yellow and fluffy. Sort of like the kitten you get for Christmas, only not yellow. And kittens don't chirp.

So this bird is flying through the streets now, and it's cool. Somewhere in its little bird-brain it comprehended that the streets were empty. If birds thought in words, it would probably be wondering where it was supposed to gets its meal if everyone was gone. No matter.

The bird landed on a pillar. There were people there, sure, but they were just jabbering in their weird language, and did not really notice the bird sitting there. It had just begun to clean itself when this crazy man bursting through the back of the group rudely interrupted it. Squawking indignantly, it flapped away far, far above the crowd.

"No!" Faramir shouted.

The men in black let the blades fall.

Roshni could only stare. The light of her eyes – so defiant before – was quenched, though nary a tear fell. The world seemed to fade from sight. Dimly she was aware of Asli clutching her arm as she crumpled to the ground, sobbing. She heard herself murmuring words of comfort to her sister-in-law, even as she steeled herself from the pain. Never let 'em see you cry, her father had admonished, and she would not let him down now, not when it was the last thing she would ever give him.

How could this have happened? Her mind reeled. She had seen Faramir bursting through the crowd, had heard his cry. What had gone wrong? It was like a language she knew, but could not piece together. If she had been in a more rational mood, she perhaps would have forgiven Faramir. But she could not accept that they were dead, would not!

The rain suited the pervading mood among the group of travelers. The day was bleak, though the sun had risen just a few hours before. Under her hood Roshni bit her lip, trying to block out the sound of Asli crying. She had been like that since the execution.

Roshni knew she seemed distant and uncaring. It was not that she was necessarily cold-hearted, like the stony-faced fellows that couldn't care less for any human being but themselves. But her pride lent her a certain aura of detachment. How she hated herself for it! Many times the past few days – when Asli had broken into tears, when the night grew bitter and cold and there was nothing to distract her – she had wondered why it was that no matter how hard she tried, she could not break past her invisible wall. And so, knowing not what else to do, she grieved in silence.

Even now, the rain dared not touch her shadow-rimmed eyes. She at least was grateful for that small courtesy; for she feared they might propel her true emotions to the surface, cracking the barriers of her heart that she had erected so long ago. And there it was again. How could she one moment be cursing herself for her apparent lack of emotion, and the next be glad of it?

Roshni raised her face, to once again smell the horse-like scent of the cloak of the soldier riding in front of her. She nearly smiled. This Faramir was so over-cautious. Even if she, Asli, and the other ten male prisoners had had the strength to run, where would they go? The desert was their home, not this copious wood. They would be hopelessly lost if ever they escaped. I don't want to anyway, Roshni thought. I agreed to help them, and I will…especially now.

Even so, she could not help but feel conflicted about that. Well, he had lied to her once, hadn't he? Hadn't he promised to save her father and brother? He had broken that, and she would not tarnish her family's memory with a patina of falsities. But it seemed she had no choice. She would not run.

It had been little over an hour with the slow pace they were moving at when they came into view of the Window on the West, which later Roshni would learn concealed Henneth Annûn.

At least, she thought they came into view, for she was blindfolded, as was custom. At first, she had not minded, but it quickly grew stuffy and she was glad when at last they stopped.

She heard the roar of the waterfall; a drop fell on her nose as they passed under. Suddenly she could see again, her vision slightly blurry as she adjusted to the light change.

She blinked. The area they had just entered was large and cavernous, not really what she had expected of such a secret refuge. Then again, she thought, it is probably why they chose it. Their enemies would likely not think anything of it.

She glanced over to Asli, who now wore a blank expression. Her gaze softened and she opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Calanon.

"My lord, where are we moving the prisoners to?"

Faramir surveyed them for a moment in thought.

"Calanon, you must not call the women 'prisoners' any longer." He looked him in the eye to be sure he understood. Faramir knew that Calanon resented them. "Eglerion and Rimedur will escort them to their quarters. But keep the men under lock and key."

Calanon merely stood as Faramir spoke, his thoughts not revealed in his face. He shrugged and turned away, conversing instead with Hérion, who had come with the White Company for a stay of several days. Most likely he intended to oversee all briefings and question the women further – he was reporting to the King, after all.

Eglerion obediently removed his hood and gently took Roshni by the arm to lead her up the stairs. His plan, however, was foiled as Roshni turned and spun to face Faramir. Now was her chance.

"Why did you not save my kinsmen? Were we not 'good enough' for you?" Roshni asked, her voice laced with hurt and anger. When she spoke again, she spoke as a small child, in little more than a plaintive whisper.

"You promised…you promised."

Suddenly the room was filled with a heavy silence. Those who had been bustling around busily before paused, looking to Faramir. Roshni saw him glance to Asli as he scanned the room, hoping for a way out of this awkward explanation. For a moment she almost pitied him.

When at last he spoke, his voice was tinged with regret.

"I tried," he said quietly. "I tried and I failed. I am not afraid to admit that." Tears glimmered in his eyes as he looked away, barely audible now. "I can never express my sorrow at their passing in a way that would appease you, Roshni. There is nothing one can say to mend the hurt of the death of a loved one."

Roshni's lips parted slightly as she exhaled, surprised at his reaction. She had expected him to be arrogant, blowing her off as a foolish chit. It would have given her more reason to despise him and argue (not to mention making her feel better) and how she wanted to! But now…she felt something close to sympathy for him.

Avoiding eye contact, she headed demurely towards the stairs, Asli and their guards following close. The staircase was surprisingly well-built and wide for being in a cave. The more Roshni walked, however, the more she realized that this was not some archaic war shelter. Henneth Annûn was a small city in and of itself. However, they would do well to rid themselves of this repelling fish-and-spices smell, she thought, crinkling her nose.

Roshni was quite fit, but even so the endless steep stairs took their toll on her. Her legs felt a bit like lead when at last they reached the top, presumably where her room was. She was not surprised to see guards there.

Faramir stood stolidly for a moment. The people around him were busy, and he was 'overseeing' them. It gave him a good excuse to stand there as he contemplated Roshni's words to him. She could not know how close they hit home.

Calanon interrupted his reverie.

"My lord, Bergil requests that you speak with him."

"Thank you, Calanon." He smiled truly then, a rare thing for him these days.

Faramir strode to where Bergil was talking animatedly with some of the soldiers. He paused in his storytelling of the most recent hunting escapade to notice Faramir standing there.

"Faramir! It is so good to see you," he exclaimed, joy in his voice.

Faramir grinned back. "You as well. It was implied you needed to speak with me?"

"Nothing of grave importance. I left the hunting figures on your desk, by the way. But really, I just wanted to see you."

Faramir laughed and slapped him on the back. He had been like a nephew to Faramir, after what Beregond had done for him, ever since he was a boy. Now a young man, he was exuberant and energetic as well as strong. Sometimes Faramir felt a bit outdone by all these young folk. Not that I am so old myself, he thought wryly. It's just that all these young people don't have the life experience to be serious. He chuckled to himself, thinking of the times he and Boromir had acted much the same.

"I will be here for a while now, Bergil, so you have nothing to worry about. Perhaps tomorrow we will go to the archery range?" He was rewarded for this suggestion with the youth's face brightening visibly. Continuing, he said, "But right now, I am exhausted. I think I will retire."

"All right. I shall see you tomorrow." With a final smile, he turned back to his companions, who like Faramir were quite amused by him. Bergil tended to exaggerate sometimes.

Sighing, Faramir meandered down the hall, the sounds of the dining room echoing out as the cooks prepared dinner, probably something along the lines of deer and potatoes. Strangely, he did not feel his stomach rumble. He was perhaps too exhausted to feel it.

He pushed open the door to his familiar room. He smiled, taking in the smooth oak panels on the walls and the crisp, pungent smell. Then his eyes widened in shock and he blinked as he saw a woman sitting on his bed.

"Ayala! Don't scare a man!"

She smiled charmingly.

"I just thought I would surprise you. I was wondering when you would get here. I myself merely…took a shortcut."

"Oh really?" Faramir caught sight of the book she held in her hand, and his heart sank a few notches. "What are you reading?"

She looked at him coyly, speaking with an air of detachment. "Nothing really. Just your journal from when you were little. No, really," she said at his disparaging face, "it's cute. Listen to this: 'Today I kissed Shelley for the first time.'" She grinned. "I never knew you were so sensitive."

Faramir stood silently for a moment, his expression wry when he answered.

"Shelley was a turtle."

Ayala clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Her expression turned quickly from mirth to mock fear as Faramir began 'chasing' her. She slapped the book shut, ducking out of his grasp. He was too fast for her, though, and grabbed her arm, pinning her to the bed.

"Now you can never escape," he whispered, kissing her softly.

She laughed. "You mean I don't want to, or you just won't let me?"

"None of that now," he said, his tone imperiously silly.

His joy at seeing her was quite shattered when he remembered what Aragorn had put on him after one of their councils several days before. He sighed.

"…_do speak to Ayala. Things got out of hand at the meeting this morning, and –" Aragorn held up a hand to silence Faramir's protests. "I know it is not just Ayala, but seeing as how you are not on very good terms with Eowyn, at least try to get your fiancée to do her part. I do not see how these meetings are beneficial to anyone with their constant bickering."_

_Faramir sighed. It was true, and it was partially his fault. Sure, he had not intended it this way, but it would be foolish of him to stay with one woman just to keep the peace. It rather roused his choler that Eowyn still had so much influence over him. She should not matter anymore, Faramir growled to himself. But a tiny part of him, though he did not want to admit it, still felt at least a little bit of attachment to her._

Ayala stopped smiling, a puzzled expression on her face.

"What is wrong, Faramir?"

"Nothing…I do not want to ruin what time we have together. It can wait."

Ayala sat up. "Now you have me intrigued. Come on, what is it?"

He looked at her, sitting innocently, and was more than slightly annoyed that this had to come up. It seemed every time there was a moment's peace something interfered.

Faramir spoke. "Well…it seems there was a spat between you and Eowyn at the Council meeting concerning the prisoners."

Ayala's eyes darkened. "I was merely trying to stay the execution. Eowyn would have none of it. This disaster could have been avoided if it were not for her supercilious temper. You know, Aragorn says he never loved her as he does Arwen, but he must have some feelings towards her. Or sympathy, because I am with you, and she is not. But he always seems to take her side, even though I am his chief advisor!"

Faramir raised his hand to stop the onslaught.

"Ayala, I did not want to anger you. I would not have brought it up but that Aragorn bade me do so." He sighed, rubbing his temple. "But these things are becoming a problem."

Ayala looked genuinely regretful when she answered.

"I am sorry, really. I know it causes problems for you. I'll try to avoid confronting her…but it is quite difficult."

"Good. You know, Ayala, you should not be in here. It isn't proper."

"Who cares?"

He crossed his arms in mock annoyance. "So you don't care if Lord Galador kills me?"

She rolled her eyes. "So into propriety. It's not like we're doing anything; even my father has no evidence of that." She winked mischievously. "But, of course, we can give him some…"

At that Faramir picked her up as she flailed, laughing, and deposited her outside the door. "Thank you, but I quite have the fear in me. I would rather not die a premature death," he grinned.

Ayala had to stand on her tiptoes to give him one last kiss before leaving for her own quarters. As she stepped away, she drew a deep breath, uncertainty in reflected in the loose set of her lips. She could not keep this from Faramir any longer if she wanted their marriage to be a real, honest one. For a little over a week now she had told herself to wait for a good time, and finally had come to recognize that there was no good time.

"Also, Faramir, there is something you should know."

He looked at her quizzically. "Yes…?"

"It's about Boromir."

Note

If you could, or would like to, please tell me if you felt sad at all, sad that the prisoners died, or sympathized with Roshni and Asli, or laughed at the Shelley-turtle thing (trying to insert humor to keep story from dragging, lol, but not knowing if I can). I would like to know so that I can better please you my dear readers, which, of course, is necessary. ) Thanks to all my lurvely reviewers/readers!


	5. Mistaken Identity

Name changes again, teehee.

Melannen Muineth

Hérion Hirion

"What about Boromir?" Faramir asked slowly, not sure if he was going to like the answer.

Ayala bit her lip. She did not want to be wrong about this. She really didn't think she was, but she did not know to whom else she could turn.

Faramir mistook her hesitance and nodded almost resignedly. "You slept with him, didn't you?"

That got a reaction. "How dare you?" she asked, her voice hurt. "I love _you_, Faramir. I seldom spoke with the man before he…went on the Quest."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to accuse you. Just please…tell me what it is."

Ayala stepped closer, close enough to whisper.

"Boromir's…alive."

The gritty wall met his hand as he sagged, leaning against it for support. "No. It cannot be true," he said, almost to himself. "It cannot be. I saw his body. I touched the cloven horn of Gondor!"

"Shh! Keep your voice down." Softening her tone, she continued, "I know it is difficult to believe. But you know that I would not tell you something of this magnitude unless I was almost certain it was true." Ayala touched his shoulder, meaning to steady him, and was startled to feel his muscles trembling beneath the rough ranger's garb.

"Almost certain?"

"Yes." She shifted slightly, knowing how imprudent she was going to seem. "I don't exactly _know_ where he is."

Faramir laughed shortly, his voice lower now. "Ayala, you tell me my brother is alive, and yet you do not know where he is? Show me some proof."

"I'm not completely incompetent, Faramir. Here, look," she said, pulling a letter from her pocket.

"I can't read it, the hall is too dim."

"Get in your room, then."

Faramir moved to shut the door, a normal habit, but it was stopped by Ayala, who slowed the momentum enough to shut it noiselessly. Faramir gave her a questioning look. She was acting very

strange.

She shook her head, instead motioning for him to read the letter. "Go on."

Faramir decided it was best not to push her for an answer, instead turning his attention to the crinkled letter. His eyes scanned it carefully, but when he reached the end, he had read nothing in

the content to suggest Ayala's conclusion.

"This must be more than just a benign letter." He turned it many different ways in the light, trying to catch a reflection. He narrowed his eyes, spotting something. "There. You noticed this?"

"Yes." She looked at the nearly invisible ink with admiration. "Boromir was…is…quite an accomplished steganographer. It is a form of a distress code. The numbers 7 and 26 signify specific things. Seven was Boromir's code when he was Captain. At the time, twenty-six was the number used by soldiers to signify their, well, aliveness. It was quite simple once I made a few checks on the old codes."

"Yes," Faramir murmured as he sank to the bed, still studying it, "almost too simple. Why send this to you, a woman he barely knew, and not to his brother?"

"Think about it, Faramir. He knew that he could most likely trust me, because I am your fiancée and the ranking agent at the Bureau. Also, you know that all official mail is stamped with a seal, rather than just the usual wax, which is easily broken into and replaced. It would not be suspicious for King Imrahil, my former superior, to send me a letter, and it guaranteed its sanctity."

"So Boromir must have had access to Imrahil's things at some point," he mused. "Letters travel on predictable routes. He could have intercepted some that he knew was meant for you before the seal was put on it."

"Mm. Exactly."

Faramir exhaled, resting his head in his palm. "Then why not just come to me?" he wondered. "Why go about this furtively? The people would be overjoyed to see him again, have him back."

"I wondered the same thing, explored every possibility. In the end I came to one conclusion for his secretive behavior, the reason I have told no one but you about this and you must do likewise. He must have found out."

Faramir met her gaze, puzzled. Her voice was heavy when she spoke.

"We have a mole at the Bureau. A mole who has a reason to want him dead."

The orange peels succumbed to her scraping fingernails, falling off the fruit limply. The rhythmic motion comforted her, inducing a sort of mindless continuation. She drew in a sharp breath as the juice stung a sword cut on her hand, the peace of the moment rudely shattered.

Asli looked up at her from the pile of papers quizzically. "What, Roshni?"

She shook her head, pressing a thumb to the cut. "It's nothing. Just a little scrape."

"It is not nothing. You're not all right." Concern was evident in her clear brown eyes. "I need to get you something."

Roshni exhaled, mentally kicking herself. She should have kept silent. Asli had been working too much lately, fervently trying to find any indication of the Lieutenant. If she was being honest, she thought Asli was doing it less to be a patriot and more to block out her own grief. The last thing Roshni wanted was to give her sister-in-law any more worry.

"Don't, Asli. I think I can make it to the kitchen," she said, offering a wry smile. She heard Asli sigh.

"Very well. But I'm worried about you, you know."

_You too, sister_. Roshni thought. Wearily she rose, making her way through the narrow passages. She still felt claustrophobic in Henneth Annûn. It wasn't bad, really. The walkways were well lit and clean, the rooms for the most part airy. It was just that she had never been confined in all her life as much as she had been these past few days.

She paused, confused, in front of the door to her left. Sleeplessness had left her disoriented. Was this the kitchen Faramir wanted us to use? She knew he did not want her or Asli to mingle with the general populous just yet. Deciding that her wound hurt and that she really didn't care, she put her hand on the knob and turned it.

Her pupils dilated in the sudden darkness. Fumbling around, she struck the oil lamp she knew was to the right of every doorway. In the faint light, she considered her surroundings. The room was average in size and bare, unremarkable in almost every way. Her momentary disappoint was overcome when she spotted the pot of water in the corner. Anticipating the feel of lukewarm water soothing her scrape, she instead got a nasty surprise.

Roshni cringed like a child who knows they touched something they shouldn't have as the pieces of the unstable pot smashed on the floor with a sharp crack.

"Oh, curses," she muttered as she grabbed a linen cloth, bending to wipe up the water. It soaked the cloth in a matter of seconds, spreading to her fingertips. She almost welcomed the clammy sensation, alone in the room.

She had just begun to clean up the mess of the pot when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large, burly hand reach down to pick up a piece and hand it to her. Startled, she looked up to meet a pair of laughing eyes.

"I'm—I'm sorry, sir, I just—"

Bergil put a finger to his lips to silence her. "It's no problem. It was only clay."

She blew out a frustrated breath, hating how foolish she looked, in front of a Gondorian, no less. "Really, I feel so clumsy. I was just trying to clean and bandage this wound, and then…" she motioned to the mess.

"Let me see." When she held out her palm, he made a slight tsking noise. "We can't have that. Here, I think there's some water here to soak it in."

"Thank you," she said stiffly, letting the lukewarm water settle around her hand.

"Oh, I'm not done. I have to make a poultice for that."

Roshni watched him as he moved about in the small room. She hated being waited on, but yet she was letting him treat her wound. Perhaps it was because, despite the fact that he was a soldier and certainly knew who she was, he was surprisingly kind. He was stirring the poultice mixture with a sort of quiet intensity, as one who is familiar with a task. It calmed her.

He felt her gaze on him and looked up to meet her eyes, smiling reassuringly. Her cheeks reddened at being caught staring and she turned away. Bergil furrowed his brow. He had never seen her in Henneth Annûn before. Try as he might, he couldn't remember if Faramir had mentioned anything of new apprentices from Gondor.

"Done," he said, breaking the silence. He stood and walked to her, the bowl in hand. "Hold out your palm," he instructed. "I am going to rub some of this on it, and then I'll put a bandage on. It might hurt."

"All right." She bit her lip as the heat touched the wound. But it provided relief. Roshni sighed as the medication in the poultice began to take effect. But not just that, a voice inside her taunted. Roshni tightened her mouth, blocking those thoughts. Even a charming soldier was still a soldier. She wasn't ready to forgive just yet.

"I can't," she said with quiet vehemence.

Bergil looked up from where he was wrapping the bandage, puzzled. "What?"

"Nothing." Inwardly she kicked herself. She had to stop thinking out loud.

"All right, then," he said, putting the final touch on the bandage. She tried to pull away, but he held her hand for a moment longer, his gaze locking into hers.

"I trust you won't be breaking any more pottery?"

She laughed lightly, trying to keep the strain out of her tone. "I don't predict so."

"Then we'll keep it a secret, hmm?" He winked.

She half-smiled, not too enthusiastically. "You need to teach me how to make that poultice sometime." She had moved away, her hand on the doorknob, when she heard his voice again.

"What is your name, if I may be so bold?"

Roshni turned and paused, contemplating the question. She answered by walking through the door, leaving him in the dark as the oil wick burnt out.

Thwunk.

The target teetered slightly as a red-feathered shaft hit it squarely in the center.

Faramir laughed at Bergil's annoyed expression. "You can't beat me, even if you are practically my nephew."

Bergil raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm not too sure of that." Taking position in front of the shooting line, he nocked his arrow. A few seconds later, it met the target next to Faramir's arrow.

Bergil grinned as he scrunched up his face to avoid the glare of the sun. "Seems I'm better than you thought."

Faramir laughed again. "You are far too competitive, Bergil. I was merely joking." He squinted as he studied Bergil's face. "Were you on guard duty last night?"

"Yes."

"The rings under your eyes tell that quite plainly. You did not happen to meet any monsters this time, did you, Bergil?"

Bergil rolled his eyes in mock embarrassment. He would never live it down. The very first time he had been on guard duty, he had heard a scuffling around one of the corners and had shot it, thinking it was an intruder. It had turned out to be the cat, now sadly no longer with them.

"Don't worry, I think I'm past—" But he didn't finish, for at the moment Calanon joined them.

"A day at the archery range, hmm, gentlemen?"

Bergil drank from his water bottle non-committally, letting Faramir answer.

"How kind of you to join us, Calanon. We were just discussing the ups and downs of guard duty."

Calanon smirked, trying not to be overtly mocking. "Ah, I see. No doubt the difficulties of that occupation will be increasing now that the former prisoners are here. We'll have to keep the people away from them, for the most part, until they are more acclimated to their presence."

Bergil nearly choked on his water, trying not to let Faramir or Calanon see surprise in his face. Of course he was familiar with the recent events in Gondor and Haradwaith. He should have expected that they'd come here. _But that woman was Haradren?_ Despite her desert heritage, she had been light-skinned enough that he had taken her for one of the Gondorians. _Well, if she's the duumvir's daughter, she would have spent her time away from the 'daily grind,'_ he thought sarcastically.

Bergil could not believe his mistake.

Calanon noticed Bergil's change in visage and threw him a questioning glance, nudging Faramir. "It seems our little guard is worrying about whether he's going to shoot the ladies by accident." The two of them laughed good-naturedly.

Bergil swallowed hard, wiping the water off his sparse beard. It was difficult for him to lie. "Yes. Of course." He smiled wanly, not wanting them to suspect anything. He had been interested in her, despite her standoffish manner. Now it looked like whatever intentions he had had would never have a chance.

There was a sudden jarring knock on the door. Grumbling groggily, the man rolled over to light a lamp.

Her eyes fluttered open. "What's wrong, Zair?" she asked, her voice melodious even coated in sleep.

He put a finger to her lips. "Shh. It's nothing," he said, as he pulled a nightshirt over his frame and strode to open the door.

His glowering eyes, dark as coals, met those of a young messenger boy. "What do you want at this hour?" he asked gruffly.

"I apologize, my lord. But there's urgent news, from Near Harad." His tone was shrill.

Lord Zair snatched the paper from the boy's hand. In the swallowing blackness his fingers rolled over the seal. His heart sank.

"Go." As the boy scampered off, his feet carried him backwards to the bed. He almost dreaded what it would say. When a messenger knocks on your door in the middle of the night, it's usually not a good thing.

Luhana pushed the silk sheets over her legs and sat up beside him, brushing dark strands away from her eyes. Her thick eyelashes moved to conceal a tear as her gaze traveled along the parchment. She rested a hand on Zair's shoulder.

"What will we do?"

Zair's face, so affable before, had turned hard with resolve. In anger he balled up the message and threw it across the room.

"This is war."

Muineth dug her heels into the horse's sweaty flanks, urging her on. In three strides she felt the cool spray of water on her face. She laughed in delight as the mare splashed in up to her shoulder, snorting as the foam from her sides mixed with the cascading river.

Muineth was nearly tossed into the river herself as Rayeena spooked sharply, sending another spray into the air. She wiped the water from her eyes to see Hirion beside her on Tammen, grinning.

"I told you to put a saddle on, Hirion," she teased. "Maybe then you would have won."

"Or maybe, I let you," he shot back, still grinning.

Muineth snorted. "Oh, sure."

"Well, after all, that's the only way you _can_ win." She sent a deluge of water his way, and he ducked, sliding off his horse. When she looked around, puzzled, he popped up on the other side of Rayeena, pushing an unprepared Muineth into the river. She met the rushing water with a startled shriek.

She came back up, gasping for breath. Her breeches and linen shirt were stuck to her now-freezing skin. "You little—" but she didn't finish, for at that moment she lunged forward and tackled him. Both horses snorted uneasily at their antics and splashed through the water, moving away.

The mutual shrieking and laughing continued for some time. At last, they emerged from the river, both still sopping wet but leading the horses behind them. Muineth shook her head, the dark chestnut curls sending water in every direction.

She plopped to the ground, pleasantly exhausted. Hirion sat down beside her, wrapping his arms around his legs. Her laughter faded into contentment as she studied him, sitting so silently. His eyes had grown unfathomable again. She twirled a strand of grass between her fingers absentmindedly, contemplating his mood. Only with horses did he come out of his shell, his shell that she could not break. She had seen it in his face when they had been splashing in the river. One moment he was exulted, carefree. The next his mask fell over him again. He was holding something back, something she had never figured out.

"That was fun," she said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah."

She rolled over at the monosyllabic answer, propping herself up on one elbow. "Hirion, we've been friends since…Ayala introduced us, when she first came to Gondor, haven't we?"

"Probably."

She touched his arm, mildly surprised to feel him shudder. "In all that time, you have never told me why you are like this."

"Like what?" he asked tonelessly.

"Like that. You're withdrawn, sullen, yet some moments I see another side of you." She drew herself up to look plaintively at him. "Who did this to you?" she whispered. "Tell me."

Hirion sighed, pushing her hand away. "It was a long time ago."

Muineth furrowed her brow, puzzled, but before he got a chance to continue, they were interrupted by the rhythmic pounding of hoof beats. Both scrambled to their feet, greeting the messenger.

"The King has ordered that you return to the Citadel immediately."

"Did he say why?" Hirion questioned. He always got right to the point.

The messenger pushed his sweaty auburn hair away from his face, looking harried. "It seems there has been unusual activity in some of our outposts. A dozen or so guards have been shot and killed."

Muineth and Hirion exchanged troubled glances. "We will return without delay," Muineth replied. The messenger nodded respectfully and spurred his horse into a gallop, on his way to alert the others. Muineth untied the horses from the tree and threw Tammen's reins to Hirion.

"What could this mean?" she asked, her expression pensive.

He shook his head, as puzzled as she. "I do not know." Both pulled their horses around and headed back to the Citadel at full speed.

And in the distance, a figure watched, cloaked in shadow.


End file.
